


Amidst the Meridian

by jdudley



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Betrayal, Bisexuality, Bounty Hunters, Dark Arthur, Dom Dutch van der Linde, Drama, Drugs, Everyone is Dead, F/M, Family Drama, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Low Honor Arthur Morgan, M/M, Mention of Eliza, Mention of Issac, Multi, No Country for Old Men...or Dads?, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Arthur, and i oop, arthur needs help, mary linton being annoying, she's depressing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdudley/pseuds/jdudley
Summary: Presidio, Texas. 1980. The beginning of a new decade. Arthur Morgan, a man of who has processed several odd jobs and a past crime-ridden enough to make Al Capone blush, has landed a new gig as a private investigator, doing the work the police are too busy, or in this case, scared to do. He gets sent on a task to investigate a series of drug deal-locations that have all ended in violence. On one particular massacre, he comes across a suitcase, right above $4 million dollars. He takes it. Unknowingly, he becomes the prey to a predator, Dutch Van der Linde, and his infamous gang. Arthur, a veteran of the Vietnam war, believes he can defend himself and his wife, Mary, from this war he's engaged them in. However, after a series of miscalculated mistakes, the consequences of his actions engulf his life and sanity.Inspired by No Country for Old Men, this is a take of that story mixed with some Red Dead juiciness





	1. Dial M for Murder

The deputy sat at his desk, licking the tip of his finger, flipping through the pages of the report. Picking up his pen, he aims down to the line asking for the date. He looks up at the calendar. A pair of eyes of a longhorn standing with a backdrop of Burnt Sienna and Pantone canyons behind it. The photo, photographed by A. Mason, as it says in black against the orange, says boldly before him.

"Whew. 1980? Already? And to believe my baby girl was born four years ago. Time sure flies by doesn't it?"

Silence responds back to him.

"I got married. Got' mah dream girl, got the dream job? It seems God does favor those who do righteous. Ain't that right Mister Van... Van der Linde?"

He turns and looks over at the man. Dutch Van Der Linde. Wearing a black suit. His shoes scuffed from dirt and hitting the ground from when he got arrested. Everything else is in pristine condition. His ironed button up shirt has a slight crinkle above his belt from being shoved around. His hair is smoothed back to the nape of his neck. His curls slightly blow on and off again as the fan rotates back and forth from the deputy and him. His hands are handcuffed together and pinned by the bench the deputy locked him on. 

Despite the heat of the Texas sun beating into the room, his face appears dry. His face is blank, staring down into the tile floor. Black and white. Or off white at this point. The tile under his foot is slightly uneven from the next one over. He applies pressure on it, attempting to see if he can fix it. He does this for a while. 

He eventually looks up. Looking up to find why he couldn't find silence.

"...and I know I'm annoying you with all this talk about how blessed I am sir but this is goin' to be, and I'm positively positive, gonna be the most positive thing you're gonna hear until they announce your day of death! The people of the state of Texas, no, no, the United States is gonna be excited to hear you been fried."

The phone rings.

"Deputy of Presi Presi! Presidio, oh hello? Oh why yes, Mister Ross, I got him here."

"How the hell you get that man, boy?"

"Sir, it was easy! All he had on him was two old ol' looking guns on him. Looked like something for the 1800s. Come up here and see for your yourself."

"Oh, I'm on my way son. You know how big the price on his head is?"

"I read it on the paper. More than me and my wife would ever see! But I got him handled til you get here."

"Alright son, I'm past Stockton. I'll see you in a few"

"Alright, don't you worry now? I got this handl-"

Dutch's arms reach over his shoulders and he pulls his's cuffs over his neck. The phone and the cord shoot over the desk, creating a cacophony of noise on the tile. The deputy flies off his chair with Dutch onto the ground, stretching his arms wildly to grip onto the cuff chain. He begins to grunt and grasp louder, seeing that his blessed life was beginning to end. Dutch pulls harder, barely letting out a noise as he strangles the man to death. 

He begins to relax his grip when he sees the young deputy's blood pour out of his throat. His legs begin to sketch out, aligning with the marks his shoes made on the tile as he was fighting Dutch. Dutch relaxes his muscles, laying there for a few seconds. He politely moves the man's body to the side as he gets up. 

He picks up the bloody unglued tile he used to cut his wrists and walks into the bathroom. Turning on the sink, he washes up his wounds. Bandaging them up, he checks that his whole outfit is in place. Silence is upon him finally. He stands like this for a while. The ticking from his right pocket brings him back. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pocket watch. 25 until 6 PM. 

Opening the drawer of the desk, he finds his mint condition Schofield Revolvers and his holster in a bag, labeled under his last name. He grabs the deputy's car keys before he walks out.

He steps outside into the desert heat, walking out from the office toward the street. He looks down the road. Figuring out his sense of direction, he begins to walk over to the deputy's car. 

Driving down the Interstate, he begins to close the distance between a lonesome car a few yards from him. The lights on the roof of the Plymouth Fury roared on. The brakes of the feller in front of him came on. He edges off the side of the interstate. 

Dutch waited a few minutes before stepping out of the car, walking slowly to the window of the unsuspecting man. The man begins to roll down his window.

Dutch speaks first. His baritone voice shocks the man.

"Sir, would you please and kindly step out of the vehicle."

"Well, I would like to know what I'm being stopped for first."

"Well, let's step out of the car first sir and we can discuss that. It's nothing too bad."

"Hm...well alright then sir."

He steps out. A slight caution to his movement as he watches Dutch watch him step out the vehicle. He walks away from his vehicle some as Dutch has stepped away from it some.

"Oh, why thank you for your cooperation. What a gentleman you are!"

"Thank you for wha-"

Blood splatters onto the sand. The man falls effortlessly to the ground. The blood from the round hole in his temple sputters out more blood. Dutch let the barrel cool some before he holsters his gun back up. He steps over the man, leaning down into his car and shutting the door. 

"For stepping out so I don't get blood on the car."

He puts the car in gear and drives off.


	2. Chapter 2:Breaking Dawn

5:24 AM. In the east, a cool blue begins to expand across the horizon.

The night begins to rescind. Sitting in his '69 C10, Arthur picks up his pen. He pulls out his journal out the glove compartment. Slightly sliding his thumb across the roughed and textured leather, he opened it, finding a small sense of enjoyment of hearing the pages flip out open. He turns to the next clear right-sided page, clicked his pen, and began to write.

_"It's an early start today. Miller wants me to go out to some desert country and spot out a scene for him. Apparently some nasty business. Apart of me is twitching for some excitement. The other, what Mary would like to see more of, is spiteful of seeing more death and despair._

_From the report, it sounds like a drug deal gone wrong in every way possible. No survivors. No witnesses. And no trail to follow._

_Mary quite upset I took the job. She wishes I'd stay home more. I wish I could too. Ever since we got married, things have gotten easier and harder. She's more lovin' to me but her demands have gotten more demanding. She wants me to be the man she's seen in all those movies she's watched. A "Tall Man," or a "Saint," somebody to pick her up and rescue her. Carry her on my lap and ride into the sunset like one of those Westerns. But where do those people go when it all ends?_

_I guess we won't ever know."_

The wind slightly tugged on the truck, rocking it slightly. The trailers around the lot rustle. Arthur looks up and sees the light from Mary and his's den light up. Mary's up. She opens the door gently in one of his overly sized shirts and pajama shorts and walks antsy to his window. She wraps her arms around her chest, a slight look of concern on her face.

"You're heading off I presume?"

"Duty calls. You know that."

"Arthur, I, just want you to be safe. Please."

"Honey, all I'm doing is just a little report work. Nothing too dangerous."

"I know, Just..just, promise me you'll be home...by 7? One of them James Bond movies come on at 7 on ABC. You know I like to watch stuff with you."

"You have my word. I'll see you then."

The engine comes alive with one turn. He puts it in reverse and turns out to the gravel road. Mary waves him off before closing the door shut. 

Arthur pulls out some Wheaties from his glove compartment and begins to do his morning ritual.

He turns the radio on and puts on the morning news. The newsman on the station is talking about the Olympics, which America is boycotting. The People of Washington still need aid after the Eruption of Mount St. Helens. Crime is still ramping up in New York, it went on.

Arthur wasn't really listening though. He was more in tune with just the man's voice. It reminded him of his childhood. He and his father used to listen to the same guy every day in the living room. Until his father sold the radio for...he didn't like to think about the negatives.

The sun had turned the sky a valley of pink, purple, and gold waves along the highway. The traffic was still clear. He rolled down his windows and let the wind fill the entire cab. 

He merges off the interstate and travels down to more deserted land. The land was filled with hard sand, molded by erosion and heat. As he went further off-road, the truck started to have a harder and harder time getting past the rockiness. He'll have to start walking on foot soon.

"Just get me a little further girl. Keep pushing." He rubs the dash. He takes a loud reeve from the engine as a response.

 

"Well, this will be as good as it gets."

 

He puts it in park and gets out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some burnout, not gon lie, between this chapter and the last. I've been working 50 plus hours for work so basically, all I do when I get home is sleep and watch movies lol! But here's a short but introduction beginning chapter for our husband, favorite cowpoke, and amazing friend Arthur Morgannnnn!
> 
> As always, leave comments, tips, whatever you want!
> 
> Thank y'all for reading!!


	3. Chapter 3: Down

The roar of the engine ceased. Arthur, before opening the door, looks out the driver window for any guests joining him down. He looks at the picture next to his speedometer. Mary. It was taken in 1978 when they bought the trailer. She's wearing a pale pink blouse with her regular side braid swept to the right of her face. The blush and light lipstick she had on shines bright on the print despite how dirty it is. Arthur is standing beside her, straight-faced. His daddy told him a man never smiles in photos. So he never did. He's holding Copper, his beloved dog. He passed away that summer. It made the rest of that year dark for him.

The wind tugging on the truck makes Arthur come back to reality. He opens the door. He pushes down on the manual lock and grabs his pistol out the side of the door panel. He takes one last look at the picture of his family. He looks up to the rising sun and wishes to see Mary again then closes the door. Sliding down the hill with his right foot swiveling forward, he smoothly lands down to the bottom level of the mountain. He takes out his binoculars and looks out. He sees several vehicles afar and several dark figures on the ground. 

"My God...prepare me for what I'm about to witness."

Arthur begins to walk forward at a steady pace. The wind chill blows through his hair and heightens his senses. He's cold. And hunger starting to creep to him. He should have eaten before he left. His fingers begin to twitch, his eyes begin to switch from blind spot to blind spot. He knows what his mind is going to do. Overanticipate everything. In moments like this, it makes him relish and relive his moments in the war. The stereotype but true statement, "the silence before the storm," comes to his mind because it was always true when it came to battle or any conflict in his life. Silence to Arthur made him antsy, weary, afraid above all. The medications doctors gave him when he came back couldn't save the silence creeping back to him. The scenery of the mountains or the glistening sun couldn't comfort him either anymore. The warmth of his mother hugging him after his father beat him couldn't contain his fear. Mary's hold is like a sedative. It's comforting for a period of time, but the pain always manages to slip through every crack Mary fixes. 

As he approaches the scene, he starts to see that those dark figures are bodies. There are as many bodies spread around as there are rocks in the desert. When Arthur thinks he's seen all the casualties, he sees another new body. They have all been shot. Blood had dried and painted the golden desert. The vehicles around all had bullet holes in them. Most of the windows have been shot out and there were casualties in the vehicles. All Arthur could do is stare in near amusement. This wasn't some jungle in the middle of Vietnam, or Saigon, or Cambodia. This was a war zone in the middle of no man's land in Texas. If this made the news, it would send the whole state into shock. 

Arthur starts to look for clues within the area. Who was fighting here? And over what? He takes out his journal and sketches out some of the areas with the vehicles. He writes down quick notes such as the car models, the tags, and writes a body count down. He begins to start looking inside the vehicles. Most of the deceased are of Hispanic descent. Most of them are young. This made Arthur's stomach swivel some. "Lives thrown away too early," he thought. He couldn't stop thinking about how each of these men got to this situation. Was it worth dying over it? 

Walking to one of the distant abandoned cars in the area, he squints his eyes at a figure that doesn't look human. As he approaches it, he realizes it is a dog. Looks like a pit bull, shot two times in the chest and girth area. "They shot the damn dog too," Arthur says to himself. He kneels down to the dog. Its eyes still open. His face lays half up, the other half on the desert ground. It must have been running towards its attacker when they shot him. Arthur puts his hands on the dog's eyelids and closes them. Arthur hates looking into anything dead's eyes, even if its a bird, a dog, anything. 

As Arthur writes a note about the dog, he hears a noise from the vehicle he was walking to. A sound of life. Arthur immediately grabs for his pistol and pulls it to his side, going to a near crawl towards the vehicle. Somebody is moving inside of it, making the truck's axels squeak in the midst of the silence. Arthur sees the dark figure turn their head to the window of the driver's side. Arthur starts to move over to the passenger side, gradually moving his arm up, reaching for the door handle to see if it's unlocked. The window is rolled down, even better. He moves his hand back to his pistol, positioning his gun just like the army taught him, targeting the man in the driver seat. Arthur stares at him with an intense focus, waiting for him to realize he's there. But he realizes the man is nearly dead. His shallow, wheezing, breaths fill the silence between him and the man. He's holding his side, his shirt colored a dark crimson. He's been shot just like his comrades a few yards back. It appears he was trying to get away but didn't have the energy to drive. Arthur finds himself sympathizing with the man. With all the men he's seen get shot and blown up and stabbed and killed in unnatural ways, this one awoke his hesitation. He didn't want to interrogate him or torture him. Who knows how long this poor guy has been sitting here holding his side. 

The man suddenly turns and looks at him, his eyes widen at seeing Arthur. Arthur could tell his senses were failing him though now. That's the first kiss from death before it pulls you down. The man's golden brown eyes were desperate and hazed over. Tears and sweat clenched to his face. His mouth began to slowly spread open. Arthur still had the gun pointed at his chest. 

"Agua...por favor" the man quivered out

"Aqua?"

"Aqua...aqua...líquido"

"I'm sorry feller, I don't speak Spanish or whatever the hell you talking. You speak English?

The man began to lean the rest of his strength and weight toward Arthur on the passenger side. Arthur by reflex stepped back and lowered his gun. It's inevitable that this man was going to die. So he longer saw a threat. The man lifts his hand up and points at Arthur's satchel. "I ain't got no aqua or liquido or whatever for you." He walks back to the bed of the truck and lifts the cover to it. Pounds of blow. Of course, this was related to drugs. Of fucking course. 

 

Arthur begins to walk out from the truck to more of the land beyond. He talks his binoculars out and scouts out the land, seeing a few scattered trees and bushes. "No sign of life," Arthur thinks to himself. He focuses on a tree in the distance. He sees a pair of legs and boots sticking out the shadow of the tree. His intuition tells him no man would be casually strolling in the desert in the morning without seeing the mass grave behind him. Arthur takes out his watch and pulls out his father's Rolex 3529, a watch he bought after he returned from the war, and checked the time. He's going to give the body ten minutes to move.

Ten minutes pass. Arthur begins to walk over, pistol in hand, just in case and moves up. The man is dead. Hunched over to the right of him, his shirt crimson from his blood. His eyes stared off into the desert. To the right of him, a suitcase lays. Arthur looks over at it. The leather is hard and black, with the dirt of the desert seeping into the cracks of the fine leather of the case. Arthur reaches for it, putting his hands on the locks. The smooth gold locks entice him to open it. He turns to the man on the tree, eyeballing him one more time. He lays the case flat on the ground, lifting the locks up. He slowly lifts the case up. 

Money.

A lot of money.

Over a million. 

"My God"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it has been so long since I've updated this! School got the best of me this past semester so I apologize! However, I will be trying to update this more and more. Let me know what you think of this chapter!


End file.
